I try to tie Babe’s lead rope in the same kind of knot that David did. “How much hay?”
“About four tons a year.”
“What? That’s eight thousand pounds!” I say.
“Wow, you’re good at math,” David says.
“Do they poop four tons a year, too?” I ask, eyeing the growing manure pile by the Dumpster.
“Sure seems like it sometimes. No, don’t take the saddle off, this is just a break.”
Babe flicks her ears, trying to shoo away the fly buzzing above her head.
“What do we do now?” I ask.
David gestures toward Gus. “I hate to do it, but we have to wake up Sleeping Beauty.”
I groan, but we don’t have a choice. I lead the way across the parking lot to where the pony handler is snoozing. “Excuse me,” I say. “Um, Gus? Hello?”
Gus just snores.
“Wake up!” shouts David.
Gus snorts, jerks, and flings his hat to the ground. “What’s wrong with you two, hollering at a fella like that?”
Sleeping Grumpy is more like it.
“Sorry,” I say sheepishly. “Where can we find your water bucket and the hay for the ponies?”
“Isn’t this a hardware store?” Gus stretches and stands. “Get a bucket in there.”
“What about the hay?” I ask. “What are we supposed to feed them?”
“Those old ponies ain’t hungry yet,” Gus says. “They’re used to working all day without food.”
“That’s not good for them,” David says.
“Let them nibble on that grass back there.” Gus points his chin at the narrow patch of green beyond the back of the parking lot. “Stay with them, though. Don’t want to go chasing after them. I’m going in search of a hot lunch and a drink.”
And with that, he ambles off toward Main Street.
“What a jerk,” David says. “Now what?”
“I’ll get a water bucket from the store,” I say. “Mom and Dad won’t mind, I hope. Do you believe what he said about the ponies not needing to eat anything?”
“No,” David says. “Any chance you have hay bales or horse feed in the store?”
My imagination gallops away for a second. I picture Wrenches & Roses expanding with a barn built in this lot filled with feed, saddles, and anything else a horse might want.
“Josh? Did you hear me?” David asks, waving his hand in front of my eyes. “We need to feed these guys. Me, too. I’m starving.”
I blink and snap out of it. “I hope they like carrots.”
• • • • •
A few minutes later I stagger back out to the parking lot carrying two heavy buckets of water, with a plastic bag of carrots dangling from my mouth. David is upstairs in our kitchen raiding the refrigerator with Jules. I’m hungry, too, but this might be my only chance to see if I can be a Vet Volunteer without David showing me how to do everything.
Buster shakes his head, whinnying loudly, when he sees me.
I stop, shocked, and the bag of carrots falls to the ground. Buster is the only pony in the corral!
Babe is back at Mom’s planter boxes, calmly munching marigolds. I must have messed up the knot on her lead. Or maybe that pony is a magician. No, I messed up the knot. I’ll get David to help me convince her to head back to the corral.
Buster whinnies again and crosses the corral, staring at the water buckets and the bag of treats. He’s definitely hungry. And thirsty. So Babe must be feeling the same way . . .
I set one bucket inside the corral. Buster slurps so loudly that Babe stops chewing to watch him.
“That’s it, girl.” I hold out the second bucket. “This one is just for you. Come and get it.”
She ignores me and goes back to demolishing the marigolds. I can’t carry the water and grab for her lead, so I put the bucket down and walk toward her slowly. Just when I’m almost close enough to reach her lead rope, she trots away to the farthest planter, filled with red, white, and blue petunias.
“Argh!” I know I should use a gentle but firm voice, like David did to coax Buster out of the trailer, but I just want to stomp my foot and scream. Babe looks at me, blue petunias dangling from her mouth. I swear she’s laughing at me.
“Come on, Babe.” If David and Jules walk out and see me making a fool of myself like this, I’ll never hear the end of it. “Please, I’m begging you!”
Babe sighs, turns, and heads toward the corral, trotting faster than she’s moved all morning.
Yes! I did it!
Just then Jules come out the back door carrying a couple of huge plastic bags, followed by David, who is balancing two paper plates loaded with sandwiches and potato chips. The door slams closed behind him. The sudden noise startles Babe so much that she swerves and bolts for the busy traffic on Main Street.
“No!” I scream.
Chapter Six
Jules moves as fast as I do; she heads left and I head right. It’s the twin thing at work again, the weird connection between us that pops up at the strangest times. We don’t need to talk, which is good because we don’t have time. We circle around the pony until we’re both standing on the sidewalk in front of her, our arms out to our sides.
A few cars honk their horns. Babe shakes her mane at the noise. She looks scared and confused by all the commotion.
I slowly raise my arms. “Talk to her,” I tell my sister. “Calmly. We have to distract her.”
Jules mirrors what I’m doing with my arms. “I talk rabbit, not horse.”
“Fake it,” I say. “That’s what I’m doing.” I step toward the pony. Babe snorts and paws at the ground with her hoof.
“Should I call nine one one?” shouts a driver.
Any second now my parents are going to come outside, or this pony is going to run into the street and cause an accident or get hurt, or the police will come, or maybe all those things will happen at the same time.
Babe snorts again.
“What is she doing?” Jules asks.
A loud whinny came from the middle of our parking lot. All of us—Jules, Babe, and I—stop and stare.
David grins and whinnies again, sounding exactly like a horse. He walks toward the runaway pony, half a peanut butter sandwich in each hand. “Come and get it, beautiful,” he says confidently.
Babe paws at the ground, twitching her nose.
Jules and I exchange a glance and step forward at the same time.
David makes a clicking noise with his tongue. Babe takes a step toward David, then stops, looking back at Jules and me, and then at David again.
“Go on,” I say softly. “Go get your treat.”
“Peanut butter,” David says. “Yum!”
Babe’s nose twitches again, her eyes focused on the food. I take another step closer. Jules does the same thing. I’m close enough to reach out and grab her lead, but David shakes his head.
“Don’t!” he warns. “Let her come to me.”
Sure enough, Babe trots straight to David, and as she takes the sandwich from him, he wraps her lead rope around his hand. After she’s finished eating the first half of the sandwich, he holds the second half just in front of her nose and walks her into the corral. He rewards her with the rest of the sandwich and pats her head.
“Can you bring over the water bucket?” he asks.
As soon as I set the full water bucket in the corral, Babe plunges her head into it and slurps, then she lifts her head up and shakes hard, soaking me. David manages to jump back just in time to stay dry, laughing.
“You need some horse sense, Josh!”
I bend down and pretend to retie my sneaker, my face burning. Yeah, he’s good with horses, I get it, and I know better than anyone that I’m clueless about Babe and Buster. But he doesn’t have to keep rubbing it in.
Jules fetc
hes the plastic bags she dropped when she chased after Babe.
“What’s that?” I ask.
She rips open the plastic. “Timothy hay,” she says. “It’s what Cuddles and Lolli eat, but hay is hay, right, David? The other bag has alfalfa pellets for small animals, but I figured the ponies wouldn’t mind.”
“Did you ask Mom if you could take those?” I ask.
“Why should I?” Jules answers. “It’s our store.”
“Exactly, that’s why we’re supposed to sell things, not steal them.”
“The ponies are hungry, Josh,” she says.
“I know, I know.” Sometimes I think Jules doesn’t understand the way the business runs. Or maybe she doesn’t want to know. Twins have more differences than most people realize. “I know you’re not a thief, but . . .”
“Yeah.” She hands me the bag of alfalfa pellets. “Here, you feed them; it’ll make you feel better.”
The ponies had been chewing the small piles of Timothy hay, but as soon as I dig into the alfalfa bag, they stop and crowd around me.
“Whoa,” I say, “take it easy, you two.”
Jules takes the bag and pours alfalfa pellets into my hands, which I hold out to the hungry ponies. I’ve never fed any horses or ponies before, but there’s no time to be nervous. They eat right out of my hands, their whiskers tickling my palms and making me laugh.
“Cup your hands more,” David says. “You don’t want them to bite your fingers.”
“You don’t have to explain everything to him,” Jules says.
I smile at her, and she winks. With everything that’s gone wrong today, it’s nice to know that somebody has my back.
The line of riders is forming again, so after another handful of pellets and a drink, we tighten the cinches on the ponies’ saddles. While David puts the bridle on Babe, I slip the bridle over Buster’s head. Somehow I manage to get it on properly, much to my surprise.
The line is shorter than it had been in the morning, so we let the kids stay on the ponies longer. Babe circles the corral much faster than Buster, almost like she’s in the mood for racing, or he’s decided to be a turtle.
“If you lead him any slower, you’ll be standing still,” David says as he and Babe pass us again.
“It’s him, not me,” I say. “Do you think he needs a nap?”
“He’s just jealous he didn’t get a peanut butter sandwich,” David says. “You wouldn’t believe the special food that Olympic horses get. My dad said . . .”
I tune him out. All he wants to talk about is his amazing father and what a good rider he is, and all the cool things they’re going to do this summer, like riding horseback in the mountains of Virginia and giving jumping lessons at Quinn’s stables and going to Disneyworld, and on and on and on. Summer vacation is only a month away, but I’m not exactly looking forward to it. For Jules and me, it’s going to be a summer of babysitting Sophie and helping at the store. If we’re lucky, we’ll be able to squeeze in a few hours a week at Dr. Mac’s clinic.
Buster and I stop at the mounting block to change riders, and he leans against me. Five minutes later, he does it again. His head is drooping, too, and he’s walking even slower.
I interrupt David in the middle of a story about how the British royal family flies its horses in luxury airplanes.
“Something’s not right,” I say.
“What did you say?” David asks.
“I don’t think he wants any more riders,” I say.
David laughs and points at me. “You mean, you don’t want to walk around this corral anymore.”
“No, seriously,” I say. “He’s acting weird. I’ll lead Babe if you want, but Buster is done for the day.”
“Maybe he’s sore from walking on the asphalt.” David pauses and studies the pony. “It’s almost two, right? I’ll finish up here with Babe. Why don’t you let him graze on that grass back there? Just make sure he doesn’t run away.”
I quickly remove Buster’s saddle and lead him out of the corral. We detour to fill the water bucket, but to my surprise, he doesn’t drink very much. Even more puzzling, he’s not interested in grazing at all.
“Man, I wish you could talk,” I tell him as I scratch behind his ears. He looks at me with mournful eyes, and I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing about me.
It’s peaceful out here. The sun is high and hot. Bees buzz in the clover, and from far away I hear the jingle of the ice-cream truck. Buster stands next to me, his eyes on the ground. He doesn’t raise his head for anything, not even when David brings Babe over.
“Two o’clock,” he says. “Day’s over!”
Babe lowers her head to munch on the grass, her tail gently swatting at a few flies. Buster still hasn’t moved.
“Did you two enjoy your little rest?” David asks.
Part of me knows he’s just teasing. The other part is fed up.
“Knock it off,” I say.
“What?” David asks.
“You know what.”
“No, I don’t. What are you talking about?” He looks at me like he’s honestly confused, but I don’t believe it.
“You’ve been showing off all day,” I say. “I get it: you know horses. You know everything about horses, and your dad does, too, and I’m an idiot. You’ve said it all a hundred times; now will you just shut up?”
“Dude, I was just kidding,” he protests.
“No, you weren’t. I think something is wrong with Buster, and yeah, I don’t know as much as you do about ponies or horses or whatever they are, but you’ve been treating me like I’m lazy or stupid or something. I don’t like it.”
I stop, clenching my jaw, because a lot of other feelings are bubbling up, things that have nothing to do with David but that have been bugging me for a long time. I feel like punching something or crying or doing both, but if I did anything like that in front of him, I’d feel even worse.
Buster leans against me again, as if he knows how much I need a friend right now.
“Go,” I tell David. “Just go. Thanks for your help. I’ll clean everything up before Gus gets back.”
David stands in front of me, arms crossed. Buster pushes more of his weight against me, and I have to move my feet a little so he doesn’t knock me over.
David stares at the pony, frowning. “How long has he been doing that?”
“See, there you go again, being Mr. Horse Expert,” I said.
“Please, Josh,” he says. “Is this why you took him out of the corral?”
“Duh! I tried to tell you that, remember?”
David slowly kneels, petting Buster’s side. “Can I check this out?” he asks the pony, slowly moving his hands down Buster’s left foreleg. When he reaches the hoof, Buster flinches and pulls away from David.
“Oh no,” David groans.
Chapter Seven
Oh no, what?” I ask.
“I don’t know exactly,” David admits, “but he won’t let me check his shoe. This leg is warm, and look”—he points—“it’s a little swollen between his hoof and knee.”
“Is that why he was leaning on me?” I ask.
David nods. “I bet it hurts to put weight on that leg.” He checks the other hooves. “I’m an idiot,” he mutters.
“What did you just say?”
He stands up, shaking his head. “I should have checked their hooves this morning when we groomed them. I thought about it, but those kids, they wanted to ride, and I figured the ponies only had to walk around in circles a couple times.” He pauses and looks me in the eye. “And then we got so busy that I forgot.”
“It’s not exactly your fault,” I say. “It’s Gus’s responsibility to take care of them.”
“Yeah, but obviously he’s not doing that.” He sticks his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. “I should have taken the ti
me to do it right. I hate this feeling.”
“What feeling?” I ask.
“Like I want to punch myself in the face for being so stupid. You probably want to punch me, too; I gave you a hard time about slacking, and you were just trying to help Buster.”
“Um.” I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say. “If it will make you feel better, I can punch you in the face, but that’s not going to help Buster. What do you think is wrong?”
“Could be a lot of things.” He pats Buster’s shoulder and crouches in front of the bad leg again. “You should feel the heat coming off this part of his leg.”
“How do you know he won’t kick you?” I ask, nervously eyeing the pony’s sharp hooves.
David brushes his hair out of his eyes. “If I tell you, will you accuse me of showing off again?”
“I won’t, I promise.”
“Cool,” he says. “Buster will tell you before he kicks. You just have to speak his language, his body language. First, he’ll put his ears back and bare his teeth. If you don’t pay attention to that, he’ll turn his rear end toward you and lift a back leg. You see a back leg come up? Get the heck out of the way, because you’re about to be kicked.”
I double-check; Buster’s back feet are firmly planted on the ground.
“Do you want to feel the leg now?” David asks.
I’d rather rearrange the hammer display, but Buster looks up at me and it feels like he’s saying I should try. He has a point. It’s the only way I can learn how to help.
I swallow hard and kneel in the warm grass.
“Start with your hand on his shoulder and move it down slowly, so he understands what you’re doing.”
“Okay.” I glance at those back hooves one more time and touch Buster’s shoulder. His skin ripples a little, but he doesn’t lay his ears back or act unhappy. As my hand slips below his knee—
“Oh my gosh!” I exclaim.
“I know, right? Huge difference,” David says. “Dr. Mac needs to check this out.”
“She’s gone camping with the girls,” I say, standing slowly so I don’t startle Buster.
Helping Hands Page 3